


food for the soul (never made me feel whole)

by futureghost



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Food Issues, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Past Child Abuse, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 03:05:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21008669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futureghost/pseuds/futureghost
Summary: There’s nothing wrong with skipping a few meals.  Or forty-seven.  He’s as alright as he’s ever been.  Either that, or he’s never really been alright.





	food for the soul (never made me feel whole)

**Author's Note:**

> so,,, because there's never enough tony angst out there,,,
> 
> (tw: food issues)

He’s going on Day Nine when Steve hurls that glorified dinner plate through the glass wall of his workshop. For a brief moment, he’s worried-- worried Steve’s been taken over by Loki, worried that something is seriously wrong with the Captain-- but then Steve’s steady, fiery blue eyes meet his flickering, uncertain gaze. Oh. Oh.

  
There’s not an actual issue here. Steve just woke up and decided nine days was one day too many and decided to act out his desire for Tony’s company via property destruction.

  
Resigning himself to playing social for a few hours, he closes out the hologram he’s currently manipulating and rises to his feet, clapping Cap on the shoulder. “So, team movie night then?”

  
But then Steve shoves his hand off like he can’t stand Tony touching him and he returns to his earlier worry. Is there some kind of actual problem? There’s no way he missed the Assemble alarm-- Jarvis knew to let it through even when other lockdown protocols were in place. Is it not movie night? Is he missing something important? Is-- “Is someone hurt? What’s wrong?”

  
Steve’s lips tighten in response. “The rest of the team is fine.”

“Are you hurt?”

Steve avoids his gaze, jaw clenching.

“Are-- are you okay?” His eyes flicker around the workshop as his heart rate speeds up. “Oh god, you’re hurt. Did something happen? We didn’t assemble. Did you get in a fight? Do you-- do you need medical? Please tell me you’re not walking on a broken leg. You are, aren’t you? Oh god, oh god, Steve. Is there-- are you bleeding? Like, internally? Rogers?” He pauses. “Steve?”

Steve reaches out a hand as if to calm him, then aborts the gesture.

“Steve? Are you sick? I thought the serum--”

“You haven’t left the lab in nine days.”

All the tension leaves him, and he slumps back into his chair. “Oh, thank god. You’re okay, right?”

“Nine days, Tony. Have you slept? Have you eaten? Have you spoken to anyone but Jarvis?”

He rubs a hand over his unwashed hair, dragging smears of oil down his face. “I’m fine, Rogers.”

“Sir, it has been seven days and nine hours since you last slept,” Jarvis interjects. “You have not eaten since the last team dinner you attended, which was sixteen days ago.”

He looks up at Steve, who looks downright furious, and sighs. “Look, Rogers, I’m--”

“If you say you’re fine,” Steve says, “I swear to god, I’ll--”

Tony gestures to his shop. “But I am! I’m just busy, and--”

“I don’t know why you do this, Tony,” he says, his tone resigned and weary.

“Do what? I’m not doing anything.”

Steve perks up. “Great. Then you won’t mind joining us for dinner.”

Tony’s jaw unhinges. “No, no, no-- I didn’t mean--”

“Ten minutes, Tony,” he calls out, stepping back through the hole in the middle of Tony’s glass wall. “Bruce is making Indian. Something called palak paneer.”

//

“Good to see you out of the lab, Tony.” Steve places a plate in front of him, knowing better by now than to hand it off directly.

He stumbles into the chair, burying his face in his hands. “Didn’t even have to open to door to get out, since someone hurled a shield through my wall.”

Steve’s hand lands on his shoulder. “You should come up more often. We all like having you around.”

An uncomfortable feeling knots itself inside his stomach. He shovels palak into his mouth, rushes to scrub his plate clean, then leaves the dining room with a faint “see you tomorrow,” even though he doesn’t expect to see any of them for the next week.

//

Thirty minutes later, he’s retching into the scrap bucket in his workshop, and Steve’s standing over him with a concerned look on his face. Once he’s done vomiting his guts up, he explains, “Indian food’s real rich. Probably not the best thing to force down on an empty stomach.”

“The plate I gave you was for appetizers. If that amount of food makes you sick, the problem isn’t the food.” The problem’s you, Tony. He knows it’s true, even if Steve’s too polite to say it.


End file.
